1. There will be nights Filled with the dull chaos Of fuck all. Who knows what Stretches across Those nights? Those nights are spiritual. On those nights, The only hope is rain, That kind dear. A pure pattern of Gentle intention. Sedation. A symphony. The flood—Noah knew. The greatest of Mother Nature’s Mercy killings, rain. 2. It’s 1:34 AM And cold. Gusts rip leaves from Skeleton boughs. It’s a beautiful sound, That flaying. For now The trees are dead, But the wind Wants more, The bark, A branch, The whole tree, Me. The wind howls For want of prey. I try to hide In sleep, But when The wind subsides The silence screams. With bated breath I pray for another violent gust, for the scratch of leaves Caught in a tailwind On the walk, So that I may steal away.
Subscribe for poems and interesting reads.